


neon lights

by ljubavi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 2chan r best friends, College AU, M/M, and bin insists on taking care of him, basically just seungbin thinking of ways to delay either of them having to leave, jisungs mentioned like Twice, literally just fluff, seungmin breaks his leg, this fic is just me shoehorning the “theres only one bed” trope into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljubavi/pseuds/ljubavi
Summary: “I don’t just leteveryboy who breaks their leg stay at my apartment. Especially if they get their cast removed and choose to continue staying,” Changbin says stupidly, because he might be a little in love with Seungmin.Seungmin raises an eyebrow, teasing. “So I’m the only one?”
Relationships: Kim Seungmin & Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 289
Collections: SKZ Secret Santa





	neon lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckyday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckyday/gifts).



> hope u enjoy!! <3 ive never written seungbin before but ive always wanted to so this was a lot of fun!! n__n

Seungmin teeters on the hospital bed, arms folded against his chest as he swings his legs, cast-covered one included. He seems almost ashamed from where Changbin’s seated across the room, waiting for the doctor to come by.

“You did _not_.” Changbin’s face is blood red from his pathetic attempt to not laugh but he’s got a funny sort of mental image of _Seungmin_ on a skateboard, and the whole thing is so bizarre that he doubles over in laughter, clutching at his stomach in an attempt to hold himself together.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Seungmin whines, swinging a threatening crutch in Changbin’s general direction from the hospital bed, “It’s not that funny.”

Changbin raises his hands in surrender, his laughter slowly easing up. “I just don’t know _why_ you thought walking your dog on a skateboard was a good idea in the first place.”

Exasperated, Seungmin says, “I wanted to let him frolic freely!” in a form of self-defense.

And then Changbin’s doubling over again at Seungmin’s explanation, laughing so loudly that a _nurse_ pops her head through the door, searching for the source of the commotion. She relaxes when she notices the hiccuping of laughter coming from Changbin and the desperate look in Seungmin’s eyes.

Seungmin’s ears burn red when Changbin calms down long enough to apologize, and he reaches for one of his crutches the second she disappears with a quick shake of her head and a small smile, letting the door close quietly behind her.

Seungmin swings his crutch at Changbin aimlessly, who sinks low into his chair out of fear, and whisper-yells, “You can’t do that here!”

Seungmin pauses, but relents only on the condition that Changbin cannot, under any circumstances, relay the story of how he broke his leg to anyone. ( _Specifically_ Jisung, who would never let him live it down).

Changbin agrees. (With his fingers crossed on the inside of his pocket, of course. He’s nothing if not Jisung’s best friend).

—

“You know,” Changbin starts later that day, twisting the key into his lock, “Isn’t it pretty convenient that my apartment has elevators? Otherwise you’d have to climb the stairs to your place everyday.”

He risks a glance over at his shoulder, where Seungmin’s standing on crutches. Seungmin shrugs at his question, seemingly indifferent, and Changbin forces himself to look away before he stares for too long.

The door slides open with ease, and he steps to the side to let Seungmin through.

“Idiots who let their dog break their foot first,” Changbin says, laughing a little at his remark. (Part of him wants Seungmin to laugh, too).

But Seungmin just lets one of his crutches fall to the ground with a _clatter_ as he reaches out to jab him in the ribs, scowling. (It’s playful. It has to be, because that’s how he and Seungmin work, a sort of push and pull).

Changbin yelps, moving towards the doorway in an attempt to escape. But not before he picks up the fallen crutch, keeping it close to his body as he says, “You can have it back if you swear to stop threatening me with it.”

As if to prove his point, Changbin rubs the sore spot on his abdomen with his free hand. Seungmin is scarily strong for someone who doesn’t go to the gym. Or work out. Ever.

Seungmin hobbles past him and inside of his apartment on one crutch, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I don’t _need_ two crutches anyways.”

Gleefully, Changbin steps through the door after Seungmin, sliding the door shut with an air of satisfaction. When he turns back around, Seungmin’s struggling to take his shoes off.

Or _shoe,_ actually. His other foot is in a cast. Bright pink, because Seungmin likes attracting attention. Changbin signed it the second they got in the car, his handwriting loopy and crooked. Complete with a poorly drawn picture of Seungmin’s dog too.

Wordlessly, Changbin walks over. Seungmin barely spares him a second glance as he places a gentle hand on Changbin’s shoulder to keep himself balanced. 

When he’s done, Changbin hands him his missing crutch with a small smile.

“Doctor’s orders,” Changbin reminds him. Seungmin doesn’t protest much, happily accepting the crutch from Changbin’s hands. 

“You still walked in first, by the way,” He points out, and he must sound too eager because Seungmin sends him an absolutely withering glare.

And so Changbin relents, deciding to not bother him any further. 

—

“You know,” Changbin begins later that night, “It’d probably help if we shared a bed.”

Seungmin narrows his eyes at him from the other side of the couch, foot propped up under a couch cushion Changbin put on the table. “How could that possibly help either of us?”

“Oh, you know. Doctor’s orders,” Changbin shrugs, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Also, you literally cannot walk anywhere.”

Seungmin waves his hand around in a confused manner, appearing exasperated. “I’m not _helpless_. It’s just a broken foot, you know.”

“Do you really wanna break your other foot trying to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night?” Changbin asks him, raising an eyebrow. And it’s not about that. Not _really._ Changbin knows that Seungmin is perfectly capable of getting around on crutches. More than capable, actually.

But Changbin’s selfish, so he keeps pressing. Keeps trying to convince him. (Also, he may or may not have forgotten to borrow a spare mattress from Chan).

“I don’t,” Seungmin confesses eventually, relenting. “That’s worse than having to tell people my dog broke my foot.”

“So it’s settled,” Changbin smiles. Seungmin shrugs, but doesn’t object any further from his spot next to Changbin on the couch. 

There’s a beat of silence, before Seungmin says, quite suspiciously, “You forgot to get a spare mattress, didn’t you?”

 _Bingo_ , Changbin thinks. But not quite. There’s more to it.

—

Okay, so maybe Changbin should’ve bought a spare mattress. Or at least asked Chan for one. 

But maybe he shouldn’t have, because Seungmin’s pajamas have reindeer on them (“Are you stuck in middle school, Seungmin?”) and as much as Changbin likes to poke fun at him, he thinks it’s sort of cute. Especially when Seungmin’s cheeks turn rosy pink and he’s mumbling, “I forgot to do laundry since I was at my parents over break. You know. Broken leg and all,” into the spare pillow Changbin’s dug out of his closet.

Changbin squeezes himself onto the bed. Seungmin’s laying flat on his stomach and Changbin on his back, looking up at his cracked ceiling. He can’t remember which ones were there when he first moved in and which ones weren’t.

“I think you should be keeping your leg elevated,” Changbin says, breaking the comfortable silence between them. Seungmin grunts, but makes no move to adjust his position on the bed. When Changbin looks at him, his hair is ruffled and cheek pressed into the white pillowcase, eyelashes fluttering against it.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t have to borrow a mattress from Chan, because there’s something terribly breathtaking about the way Seungmin looks when he’s half asleep, the pink of his cheeks bright against the pillowcase and matching the pink of his cast. 

(Changbin thinks he makes the room look more alive, brimming with life and loveliness).

“ _Seungmin,”_ Changbin coaxes, and he’s feeling brave enough to squeeze at his shoulder. Seungmin mutters something under his breath, and then Changbin’s looping his arms around his waist, flipping him over and onto his back.

Except he ends up using too much force, thinking that Seungmin might resist, and so he ends up on top of him, hovering over his face with panicked eyes and red-tipped ears. And Seungmin’s definitely awake now, eyebrows pinched together and brown eyes wide with surprise as he looks up at Changbin. 

There’s a beat of silence before Seungmin finally speaks. “Would you care to explain how _this_ happened?”

Changbin laughs awkwardly at that, already lifting himself back up in an attempt to diffuse some of the weirdness between them. 

“Accidentally.” Changbin can’t meet Seungmin’s eyes anymore. “I’ll go get some more pillows for your leg. Do you need any pain meds?”

He peels himself off the bed so that Seungmin doesn’t notice the burning-red of his cheeks from their earlier proximity, and lingers only to hear Seungmin say that no, he doesn’t need any pain meds, that Changbin’s coddling him too much over a _broken leg._

(Broken leg or not, Changbin wants to look after him).

When he returns, he props up Seungmin’s leg without even looking at him, fussing over the angle its elevated at and adjusting Seungmin’s pajama pants in case he gets too hot from the cast, until Seungmin interrupts him with an exasperated, “I’m _fine,_ hyung. Please come to bed already. I’m sleepy.”

Which brings them to where they are now: laying side-by-side, too close but not quite touching. Changbin’s never done this with a friend before, and he’s quite unsure of what to do when Seungmin blurts out, “This is weird.”

Inwardly, Changbin is relieved. “Right? I don’t know what to do in these kinds of situations. Like, do I give you space or move closer? Or is cuddling weird?”

Changbin twists so he’s lying on his side, and he finds himself staring at Seungmin’s side profile, at the way his nose slopes downwards and his lips curl up prettily, a soft shade of pink. (Oh, this is definitely weird. No doubt about it).

He’s lucky it’s dark within the four walls of his room, grateful for the way it shields him from Seungmin and his tendency to notice everything.

Seungmin shifts so he’s got one hand resting behind the nape of his neck, and says, “I’m not sure. You’re normally pretty touchy-feely, aren’t you?”

Blush creeps up Changbin’s cheeks again. It’s not that he’s _touchy-feely_ per se. Changbin just enjoys the comfort of knowing that someone is nearby, but Seungmin’s always been a bit more distant, the kind of person who relies on words instead of physical touch. So Changbin’s never crossed that barrier, and he’s not sure if he even wants to. It’s easier to respect Seungmin’s comfort levels and pretend as if this isn’t him deflecting the storm of butterflies that rise within his chest each time they look at each other.

Changbin finally remembers Seungmin’s question from earlier. He clears his throat, and his voice is oddly small when he mumbles, “Yeah. I guess so.”

Seungmin hums at that. The comfortable silence is back again, and it lasts long enough for Changbin to think that they are not crossing that barrier tonight, that he’ll fall asleep watching the rise and fall of Seungmin’s chest and the reindeer of his pajamas flying across it, when, surprisingly enough, he extends a hand out to Changbin.

“Since you’re doing all this for me,” Seungmin says as an explanation. (He doesn’t need to give one, but he’s _Seungmin_ after all).

Changbin’s heart constricts in his rib cage, flip-flopping and doing somersaults when their hands connect. Seungmin’s hands are clammy _and_ rough (he makes the impossible possible) against the palm of Changbin’s hand but he honest-to-god wouldn't have it otherwise.

“Thank you,” Changbin murmurs, cheek pressed against the pillow. Seungmin doesn’t look at him, but Changbin swears there’s a hint of a smile on his face, betrayed by the upwards tilt of his lips.

They fall asleep like that: hand-in-hand. Connected. 

—

Changbin wakes to find himself pressed closer to Seungmin than he was when they both fell asleep sometime last night. He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, wishing the haze would lift from his vision but it is persistent and almost wins, tugging him closer and closer to the brink of unconsciousness.

And then Seungmin knocks the unrelenting point of his elbow into Changbin as he sits up sharply, looking around with a confused expression on his face.

“ _Ow_ ,” Changbin mutters, lifting a weary hand to his stomach. The haze has lifted from his eyes by now, leaving him more awake than mere moments ago.

Next to him, Seungmin blinks. Once. Twice. And then Changbin watches as it clicks for him.

“ _Oh._ Sorry, I forgot where I was,” He confesses, carefully lowering himself back to his pillow. The fog in Changbin’s mind is slowly clearing, letting him notice the way Seungmin’s hair is slightly messy and the tip of his nose is red, almost as if he’s cold.

(He probably is. Changbin’s heater is ass, and wintertime is not his closest friend).

Seungmin angles his head so that he’s facing Changbin. “Funny how you managed to come all the way here while we were sleeping.”

Somehow they’d let go of each other as the night dragged on, but Changbin is on his side and he’s so _close_ to Seungmin that he can make out the mole on his cheek.

Changbin shrugs. “I can’t help it. I guess I’m just designed to crave affection.”

Seungmin laughs at that, a bit hoarse and creaky from sleep but it’s beautiful regardless and Changbin finds himself wondering what it would be like to do this everyday. Or to at least have the privilege of hearing Kim Seungmin laugh.

“Is this what’s in store for me, then?” Seungmin’s voice is teasing and Changbin can’t help but think that something’s shifted between them since last night. Maybe sharing a bed does that to a person. 

Emboldened, Changbin presses closer, and loops an arm over Seungmin’s stomach. Tucks himself under Seungmin’s chin, right where his chest meets neck, and says, “If that’s okay with you.”

Then he waits to see what Seungmin says, because they’ve never done _this_ before. Changbin’s hesitant, almost. He’s never dared to cross the line before. Not like this, at least.

“I guess I can make an exception since you’re already letting me stay here.” Seungmin’s voice is warm and Changbin is surprised when he feels him move to wrap a hand around his back, the touch feather-light and barely there. Changbin relaxes into it anyways, a small smile on his face from the fact that Seungmin’s so close to him.

He’ll take what he can get, and small acts of affection from Seungmin are like gifts to Changbin, sprinkled here and there but everlasting all the same. 

—

Seungmin sighs helplessly a few feet away from him.

“I can’t reach _anything,_ ” He complains, and he gives up staring at the top shelf with dejection to look over at Changbin. “Also, why do you have stuff up here if you can’t reach it either?”

Changbin shrugs, unsure of what to say. “My last roommate was tall.”

Seungmin stares at him with a blank look on his face, like he doesn’t understand what that has to do with anything.

They’re in the kitchen, Changbin by the coffee maker and Seungmin by the cupboards, trying to reach the _one_ mug he wants. If it was up to Changbin, he would’ve given him any other one, insisting there’s no point in getting hung up over something so _simple._

Except his friends all have their favorite mugs, the ones they always drink out of when they come over for study sessions or movie marathons, and who is he to deny Seungmin of that?

Which is how he ends up on the kitchen countertop at eight in the morning, balancing dangerously on the edge of it as Seungmin stares at him with a horrified, but equally concerned and impressed expression on his face.

“Seungmin,” Changbin begins, his voice strained, “Don’t look at me like that or I’ll lose my balance.”

Seungmin splutters at that. “You could _die_ if you aren’t careful.”

“You’re the one who needed this mug _so_ badly,” Changbin points out, teetering on the countertop as he finally wraps his fingers around the handle of the mug. Behind him, Seungmin breathes out a sigh of relief. 

And then Changbin’s hopping back down the counter with no sign of any injuries or near-death experiences, waving the mug in Seungmin’s face with a mixture of disbelief and content in his expression. 

“Happy?” Changbin asks, but the smile on his face betrays the hint of exasperation in his voice. Seungmin must notice the hole in his facade, because he’s smiling back at him.

“Very,” He answers, reaching out to take it. Changbin shakes his head, gesturing over to the coffee maker, which had beeped sometime during all of this. 

Changbin walks over with Seungmin’s mug, replacing his own with it. As he waits for the coffee to trickle out, he asks, “So what time does your first class start?”

Seungmin’s eyebrows pinch as he considers Changbin’s question. Pursing his lips together, Changbin blows at the steam rising from his cup, trying to dissipate it. The coldness of his apartment makes it look misty, like fog is rising from the mug.

“About half an hour from now,” Seungmin answers. He makes a face, glancing down at his cast with a look of disdain from the thought of having to hobble across campus.

Changbin waves a hand in his direction, trying to ease his anxieties. “Don’t worry. I have it covered.” 

—

“You really don’t have to do this,” Seungmin protests about an hour later. 

His crutches swing in the air as he tries to keep up with Changbin, who notices a little too late that he’s walking way too fast. Reminding himself to slow down, he looks over to the side, Seungmin’s textbooks tucked under one arm.

“Oh, really? So you were just gonna hold your crutches, bag, _and_ your textbooks? All the way from my apartment and then across campus?” Changbin muses, raising an eyebrow. 

His shoulder aches from the weight of two bags, but it is nothing he isn’t used to from the gym, so he shifts the straps to make them more comfortable, and doesn’t complain.

Besides, it’s for Seungmin. Anything's worth it if it’s for Seungmin. Or maybe that’s just his heart speaking.

“ _Yes_ ,” Seungmin answers, trying to keep a straight face. Changbin shakes his head at his words, disbelieving.

“You’re impossible, Kim Seungmin,” Changbin says in response, laughing a little. Only Seungmin would insist on doing it all himself.

Seungmin sighs in defeat, but doesn’t say anything else as they walk across campus and towards his first class. 

(He does, however, roll his eyes a little when Changbin rushes forward to open the door for him, but doesn’t complain about it).

Changbin makes his way to the elevator, Seungmin following closely behind him. He presses the _Up_ button, and asks, “When do you finish class?”

Seungmin pauses for a moment. “10 o’clock.”

Changbin’s class doesn’t start until 10:30, which gives him just barely enough time to come help Seungmin, whether he protests or not.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Seungmin says, almost sensing his thoughts, “You can go to class. I’ll get Jisung to do it. Don’t bother with me.”

Changbin hesitates. The elevator doors open with a _ding_ , and he steps to the side to let Seungmin exit.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when Jisung sweet-talks you into telling him how you broke your leg,” Changbin decides. Following closely next to Seungmin, they make their way down the hall.

Seungmin’s eyes widen at the reminder, but it’s too late. Jisung is already barreling down the hall (Probably woke up late, like usual) and yelling, “Seungmin!” as if they haven’t seen each other in years, a too-happy grin on his face. 

When he gets close enough, Changbin dumps the books and bag into Jisung’s waiting arms. 

“Good luck,” He calls back to Seungmin, and the last thing he hears is a worried, “Good luck for what? _Please_ don’t tell me we have a midterm,” from Jisung before he’s out of the building, the sunlight warm and bright as it pokes through the gloomy clouds.

 _It’s a lovely day_ , Changbin thinks.

—

“O-kay. If you say so.” Chan sounds completely unconvinced.

Changbin blows a puff of air out of his mouth, trying to move that _one_ strand of hair from his eyes instead of responding. They’re both equally stubborn, it seems.

They’re on the couch, Changbin’s feet kicked over Chan’s lap, who’s foolishly placed his computer on _top_ of Changbin’s legs. (They had a near-miss earlier when he got too excited, but Chan caught it in the nick of time).

Stubborn or not, Changbin’s the first to break the monotone _click-clack_ of Chan typing. “I’m just being a nice friend, right? That’s what friends do?”

The _click-clack_ pauses, Chan’s fingers hovering over the keyboard as he narrows his eyes at Changbin. Despite that, he appears excited, a hint of a smile tilting his lips upwards.

“If you were being _just_ a nice friend and nothing more, you would’ve borrowed my spare mattress. Or slept on the couch,” Chan reminds him. And so the _click-clack_ resumes.

“Friends can share beds,” Changbin protests, crossing his arms defiantly. “It’s not like anything happened between us.”

Again, the typing stops. Chan looks up at him, musing, “Have _we_ ever shared a bed, Changbin?”

Changbin sinks deeper into the couch at Chan’s words, feeling the blood rush to his face and paint his cheeks red.

But then a memory blinks into existence within the depths of his mind, unraveling the way a scrap of paper would, and he sits back up hurriedly. Chan yelps fearfully at his sudden movement, scrambling to grab his laptop before it can teeter off of Changbin's legs and onto the ground. He opens his mouth, surely to yell at him for being stupid, but Changbin cuts him off before he has a chance to.

“Sophomore year. You got drunk and refused to sleep alone when we got back to the apartment,” Changbin accuses, jabbing a finger at Chan. 

Chan glares at him. “If you break my laptop, you’re buying me a new one.”

Changbin settles back into the cushions smugly, ignoring Chan’s comment. 

The typing continues. “Also, _you’re_ the one who got drunk. I distinctly remember because you puked on my sheets and I had to do laundry at _four in the morning_.”

Changbin blinks, and then, _oh,_ that _was_ him and not Chan after all. He’d woken up with the world’s worst hangover and an uneasy stomach the next day. 

He cowers further into the cushions, conceding shamefully. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

He must sound more sulky than usual, because Chan’s eyes soften and he says, “It’s okay. If it makes you feel better, Seungmin almost definitely likes you back.”

Changbin’s legs jerk as he sits back up excitedly, marveling at Chan’s words. Chan must’ve seen this coming, because he’s already lifted the laptop back up to avoid another near-disaster.

“He _does?_ ” Changbin asks. And then he blushes, realizing how overly-excited he sounds at the prospect. _How embarrassing,_ he thinks. 

Chan shrugs, already placing the laptop back to its previous spot. “He held your hand and shared a _bed_ with you. Is that not proof enough for you?”

Changbin sighs at his response, feeling slightly dejected. He isn’t sure what he was expecting Chan to say.

“No? I need concrete evidence actually,” Changbin mutters.

“ _Evidence,”_ Chan repeats. He laughs a little, shaking his head. “Isn’t the way you look at each other plenty?”

Changbin falls silent. He doesn’t have a good response to that. Besides, he’s never noticed Seungmin looking at him. Not in the way Chan’s describing, at least.

—

Side by side. Seungmin is so close but so, so far away. (Contrary to what Changbin assumed, it doesn’t get less awkward the second time).

“I could always ask Channie-hyung for his spare mattress,” Changbin speaks up eventually, when the silence between them grows unbearable. (For him, at least). Eyes glued to the popcorn ceiling, because that’s easier than looking directly at Seungmin and facing the truth.

There’s a pause, and nervousness trickles down Changbin’s throat. He respects Seungmin’s privacy, understands that not everyone craves touch the way he does, but there’s just _something_ about being in Seungmin's proximity that leaves him feeling undoubtedly breathless.

“Why would you need a spare mattress?” Seungmin asks, his tone bordering on innocent. Changbin drops his eyes from the cracks in his ceiling, unable to hold himself back any longer and, _oh,_ Seungmin is suddenly a lot closer.

Changbin shrugs meekly. “I want you to feel comfortable?”

It comes out sounding like a question. Changbin clears his throat and prays Seungmin didn’t notice the hesitance in his voice.

Seungmin’s eyes are equally dark and light from the lamp glowing on Changbin’s desk. He really should’ve turned it off by now but Seungmin's presence is distracting in ways he cannot explain. 

“I _am_ comfortable,” Seungmin laughs, “You refuse to let me do anything without elevating my leg or giving me a heat pack, which doesn’t necessarily speed up the healing process, by the way.”

Changbin’s cheeks flare. “But it’s _warm_.”

Seungmin shakes his head, still laughing a little.

“I _swear_ I‘m comfortable. You’re doing even more than you need to to make sure of that.” But he doesn’t sound annoyed or miffed by Changbin’s tendency to be overbearing.

No, Seungmin sounds content. And maybe that’s why Changbin feels a little brave tonight. Why he rolls into his side and burrows closer to Seungmin, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re welcome,” He says happily, smiling when Seungmin scrunches his nose from the contact.

(He doesn’t push Changbin away though, and the realization makes his heart soar).

—

Changbin’s apartment feels a lot less lonelier with Seungmin there. 

All of a sudden, he’s down at the Laundromat twice a week instead of one, Seungmin insisting on walking down with him even though it’s the middle of the night and they both have classes to attend in the morning. 

But Changbin did it past midnight once and now the habit is stuck, stuck in the same way he’s latched onto Seungmin and his presence in Changbin’s apartment. 

Suddenly the Laundromat feels a lot less lonely at one in the morning, when Seungmin’s offering him one half of his headphones to drown out the distinct rattle of laundry machines. It’s a lot less lonely when Seungmin tries to sit up on top of one of the machines the first night they do laundry together, only to topple backwards, thrown off balance by seemingly nothing. 

(Changbin grabs him by his waist to steady him without a moment's hesitation, and neither of them comment on the blush tinting his cheeks afterwards, trying to hide it behind laughter).

Changbin’s apartment feels smaller with Seungmin around. Not the stifling kind of _this-place-is-not-big-enough-anymore,_ but small in the sense that it is no longer just him there. Small in the sense that Seungmin has a big but welcoming presence that fills the apartment. 

Changbin embraces it wholly, finds himself looking forward to buying two portions of takeout or doing extra loads of laundry. Or waking up next to someone in the mornings, legs somehow accidentally entwined and Seungmin’s head pressed against the beating of his heart.

—

Habitual. Seungmin staying in his apartment is habitual. Habitual in the sense that Changbin learns his schedule for classes and how he likes to drink his coffee in the morning. (With sugar. Lots of it. And milk, too). 

Habitual in the sense that Seungmin insists on accompanying Changbin to the grocery store, squeezing himself into the shopping cart at ten o’clock at night and dangling his hands over the edges, like they’re on some sort of adventure and not simply buying ramen and other cheap junk food to get them through exams. (Seungmin had given up on getting Changbin to buy real food a few trips back).

Habitual in the sense that Seungmin brings his headphones each time Changbin finds himself at the Laundromat in the middle of the night, when he really should be sleeping before his eight am class. 

But Seungmin’s there and he offers him one half of his headphones and plays soft, drowsy music from his playlist that he doesn’t share with just anyone and Changbin pretends like his heart doesn’t speed up from the fact that Seungmin is _choosing_ to do this with him. That Seungmin would rather be here, doing laundry and listening to music over the whirring of machinery, instead of sleeping. Like he should be.

(But life isn’t just about the _should and_ _shouldn’t_ , Changbin learns).

Habitual in the sense that they wake up together, Changbin still insisting that he doesn’t want Seungmin to get hurt or fumble for his crutches in the middle of the night, and Seungmin wordlessly playing along with him. Changbin thinks Seungmin knows it’s more than that, but neither of them bring it up. 

And, well. It’s easier if they don’t. If Changbin hides behind silly excuses and too-knowing smiles. If Seungmin simply plays into it.

—

It’s the time of night where the world seems more dead and haunted than alive, moonlight filtering through the tiny window in the kitchen (Changbin never bought curtains when he moved in and his last roommate took his curtains back when he left) and the rhyming sound of coffee being prepared.

Seungmin’s propped up on the kitchen countertop, dangling precariously next to his crutches. His glasses are skewed, and Changbin watches as he pushes them up the bridge of his nose to fix it, smiling all the while.

Changbin stands opposite him, back pressed into the flat edge of the countertop, waiting for the coffee machine to let out a familiar _beep_ that signals his coffee is ready.

“You know,” Seungmin starts, “I’m starting to think that you might be a bad influence on me.”

Changbin raises an eyebrow, curious. “And what makes you say that?”

The machine lets out a high-pitched _beep_ , and he turns to grab the familiar mug of coffee under it.

Seungmin sounds slightly exasperated when he says, “Because it’s past midnight and I’m still awake. Also, I drink a lot more coffee now that you’re around.”

Changbin laughs, turning back to press the mug into Seungmin’s waiting hands. They’re cold, and Changbin’s fingers linger for a brief second, shivers pressing up his spine. He wasn’t feeling cold before this.

“Hold the mug for a little bit before you start drinking. Your hands are cold,” Changbin instructs, and he turns back to the machine to make himself a cup as well. (He doesn’t have to face Seungmin this way. Literally and metaphorically).

“Are you ever gonna fix the heat in your apartment?” Seungmin questions. 

Changbin shrugs. “Only if you wanna chip in to help me fix it.”

Seungmin goes silent from behind him, and Changbin thinks he can picture his expression right now, eyebrows drawing together and lips curved downwards slightly. He sighs.

“Besides,” Changbin continues, his voice light, “I can cuddle with you to keep you warm.”

He turns back around just in time to catch Seungmin’s reaction, hints of red appearing on his cheeks as he splutters, “That’s not _fair!_ ”

Changbin laughs softly. 

“What do you mean?” He asks innocently. “It’s not my fault my heater is broken.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seungmin sighs, all disbelieving and feigned pity for his broken heater. “It just _happens_ to be broken while I’m staying here. With no spare mattress either. How convenient.”

Changbin grins, feeling stupidly in love. And a little dazed. Maybe it’s the coffee he’s been holding instead of drinking. Something like early onset jitters from having it too late.

Pre-jitters, for lack of a better word.

“Yeah,” He agrees. “Convenient.”

—

Seungmin starts meeting him halfway. Presses closer when Changbin’s on the brink of sleep, and lays his head against Changbin’s chest, strands of dark brown hair tickling his chin.

Changbin doesn’t say anything, just shifts so that he’s got one arm around Seungmin’s back and the other coming to meet it from the other side.

Seungmin smells like coffee. And the peppermint candy they’d found in the depths of Changbin’s kitchen earlier that night after rummaging through the drawers. “Did I wake you?”

 _Never,_ Changbin thinks dazedly. It’s just that he’s hyper aware of Seungmin’s presence, of the way his cast is digging into the flesh of Changbin’s knee (Painful, but he doesn’t want Seungmin to move away from him) and the way his hair brushes against Changbin’s chin with every slight movement.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Changbin confesses. Nighttime is best for spilling secrets after all. He doesn’t have to meet Seungmin’s scrutinizing gaze, the same one that picks him apart so easily.

Seungmin hums. “I thought you were though. Were you faking it?”

Changbin laughs softly, the sound floating through the otherwise silent apartment. He’s sure Seungmin can feel it too, with his head so close to his chest.

He closes his eyes again, taking a deep breath.

“Not really. I was close to falling asleep when I felt you move.” Nighttime is for honesty, it seems.

Seungmin pauses, almost as if he’s hesitating. Teetering between secrecy and honesty, the same way Changbin is. Nighttime does that to them, apparently.

“Well, you caught me,” Seungmin laughs, “I wanted to be closer to you.”

Changbin’s heart hammers against his rib cage rhythmically, leaving no room for him to breathe or think. 

_I wanted to be closer to you_ , is all he can think of. Seungmin—quiet, all words and smiles but no touches Seungmin—wanted to be closer to him. 

Unable to hold himself back, Changbin smiles within the veil of darkness. Nighttime makes him a little braver, makes _Seungmin_ a little braver. 

“I don’t think this is good for your leg,” Changbin says stupidly. Because that’s clearly what he should say in response to Seungmin’s confession.

Definitely. He knows what he’s doing. (Or so he likes to think. Seungmin takes every bit of self-control Changbin has and dismantles it with practiced ease).

Seungmin moves again, the sheets rustling with every shift and adjustment, even though he isn’t going anywhere. “I’m fine.”

Changbin sighs, deciding it’s probably not worth it to resist. Both of them are too stubborn to come to an agreement, so he concedes and lets Seungmin press closer. 

And maybe he’s just a little bit selfish. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t resist as much as he should, why he lets Seungmin curl his arms tighter from where they’re wrapped around Changbin’s middle.

And, maybe, just maybe, Changbin feels a little bit warmer with Seungmin by his side tonight, shitty heater or not.

—

“I have,” Seungmin pauses to finish chewing his food when Changbin throws him an affronted look, “my doctor’s appointment for my cast soon.”

Changbin looks back up at Seungmin from across the table, surprised. 

Of course, he didn’t really think Seungmin staying here was anything _but_ temporary, but the realization that Seungmin’s going to have to leave eventually still throws him off balance.

(It’s too easy, the way they’ve integrated into each other’s lives).

Changbin’s fork scrapes against his plate, letting out a terribly grating _squeak_. He ignores it in favor of asking, “When?”

He dreads the answer and the loss of Seungmin’s company that comes with it, but there’s no putting it off anymore. Seungmin isn’t going to share headphones with him and go on grocery runs when neither of them can sleep forever. He has an apartment and a life and a roommate to get back to.

And Changbin? Well, Changbin has a silly crush to get over.

Seungmin clears his throat, and Changbin finally snaps out of it. The tips of his ears burn red, but Seungmin’s too nice to point it out.

“Two days from now,” Seungmin mumbles. He can’t meet Changbin’s eyes, not anymore. He doesn’t understand why, but asking might give him an answer he doesn’t want to hear, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Changbin tries to ignore the stream of disappointment pooling within his ribcage. He knew this already. Casts are not permanent and neither is the sound of Seungmin’s unrestrained laughter when they’re at the Laundromat in the middle of the night.

Still, Changbin’s heart aches with a loss he has yet to experience.

But Changbin knows it’s unavoidable, so all he says in response is, “I’ll drive you there.”

For once, Seungmin doesn’t put up a fight.

—

Changbin drives Seungmin to the hospital exactly two days later, a mirror image of a few months back. Or something along those lines. Changbin lost track of time a while ago.

Seungmin sits with his seat pushed as far back as possible, clutching his crutches with a look of pure disdain. 

“I seriously can’t wait to finally get rid of these things,” He mutters. 

Changbin hums, not even bothering to look over at Seungmin as he says, “Neither can I, considering you’ve threatened me with them on multiple occasions.”

Seungmin laughs over the sound of the radio, and Changbin finds himself biting back a smile. There’s nothing quite like hearing Seungmin laugh. He’s going to miss waking up to soft laughter and loud, unrestrained laughter when Changbin does something stupid.

He’s going to miss _Seungmin,_ most importantly. It’s easy to grow attached to someone when they’re around so often.

—

Changbin parks outside of his apartment building, flicking off the _click_ of his signal light and reaching for the ignition, where his keys are.

Seungmin clears his throat, and Changbin’s about to fumble with a half-assed reason for him to stay despite his lack of a cast when Seungmin blurts out, “Maybe I should wait until I get used to not having a cast.”

Changbin freezes, hands hovering nervously over his keys. “Wait for what?”

Part of him already knows, but he wants to hear Seungmin say it himself.

Seungmin shrugs, and when Changbin looks at him, he’s biting his lip nervously. Changbin finds himself resisting the urge to reach out and touch it, knowing Seungmin won’t stop until he draws blood and finally realizes what he’s doing.

And then Seungmin speaks. “You heard what the doctor said, right? My muscles are weak from being in the cast, so it’s probably not the best idea for me to use the stairs quite yet.”

Changbin feels heat flush his face with no restraint. _Seungmin wants to stay,_ he thinks.

“Yeah.” Changbin swallows the lump in his throat. “I heard.”

Seungmin’s biting at his lip again, a clear sign of his nervousness. “Unless you don’t want me to. I’m sure I could walk up and down the stairs if I tried.”

The engine stutters as Changbin turns off the car, shaking his head abruptly.

“No!” He hesitates, wondering if that was too forward. Clearing his throat, he starts again.

“I mean, you’re welcome to stay. Wouldn’t want you breaking your other leg because I kicked you out too soon,” He continues, unable to hold back his smile.

Seungmin smiles back. 

“Yeah. Wouldn’t wanna break my other leg,” He agrees.

And so the push and pull of Changbin and Seungmin continues. It’s silent, the way Changbin offers his shoulder in placement of the crutches Seungmin lost and how he lets Seungmin lean into him.

Seungmin is a habit CHangbin cannot break.

—

Habit or not, all good things have to end, right? Changbin can’t spend every Thursday night sitting on top of laundry machines and listening to gentle music through Seungmin’s old headphones. Can’t walk down the street to the grocery store with Seungmin latched to his side from the cold or wake up to the smell of breakfast every morning.

No, Seungmin has a job and an apartment to get back to. It feels oddly formal, the way Changbin sits on the foot of his bed as Seungmin folds freshly washed clothing into the bag he brought with him when they first got back from the hospital.

And he knows it’s somewhat dramatic, but Changbin thinks everything’s going to change when Seungmin walks out of his apartment with shitty headphones dangling from his pocket and no cast for Changbin to worriedly fuss over the way he’s been doing for the past month or so.

Because having Seungmin around is a habit. A beautiful, messy habit he has gotten used to, the kind that’s slipped into the cracks of his life and planted roots in the depths of his ribcage, determined to stay.

But that’s not true, because Seungmin’s packing up the pieces of himself that he’s shared with Changbin, and he finds himself feeling forlorn about it. There’s no point in dragging it out any longer, but Seungmin brushes his way through the apartment anyways, looking for stray socks and textbooks he clearly isn’t missing.

Or maybe Seungmin’s simply being thorough and Changbin’s imagining it, imaging the confidence with which Chan said Seungmin feels the same way about him.

He closes his eyes as Seungmin rummages through drawers, unsure of where to go from here. Does he say something?

Then, “I’m gonna check the bathroom one last time.”

Changbin should definitely say something. He blinks open his eyes lazily, and stands up in search of Seungmin.

True to his word, Changbin finds him in the bathroom, peering over the counter for toothpaste he has not forgotten and towels he didn’t bring.

Changbin clears his throat. No one ever talks about the difficulties that come with learning to love someone, about learning how to let go and pull in the right moments.

Seungmin meets his eyes through the mirror. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hovering when I should be leaving instead.”

Changbin isn’t sure of what to say— _I don’t want you to leave_ sounds too intimate. But maybe that’s how honesty works and maybe that’s why he’s so scared of both.

“Take your time,” Changbin says, making a point of looking at the bathroom sink. Like he’s searching for pieces of Seungmin too. 

Seungmin bobs his head, fingers wrapped around the edge of the sink counter. He’s still looking for things that aren’t there, but Changbin doesn’t comment on it.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there, waiting, but Seungmin turns away from the sink eventually.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, but Changbin’s shaking his head even before he finishes speaking, smiling a little.

“No worries,” Changbin says. Then, after a brief moment’s hesitation, “You’re not the only one who wants to delay things.”

Seungmin smiles, and Changbin learns he knows more than he lets on.

—

Standing on the apartment building steps, Changbin tells Seungmin it’s going to be weird having the apartment to himself. Seungmin laughs, riddled with cracks but strange bits of happiness, like he gets a sort of thrill from knowing he’s made some type of impact on Changbin’s life.

“I’ll still come around, you know. I mean, there’s always a chance I’ll run out of laundry every Thursday at midnight,” Seungmin says, raising an eyebrow at him. It’s playful, the way they interact with each other, tip-toeing around the reason _why_ they’re like this.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you at the Laundromat,” Changbin answers, smiling lopsidedly. His car _beeps_ when he unlocks it, drawing Seungmin’s attention away from him.

“Make sure you bring quarters next time,” Changbin continues, hands in his pockets as they walk towards the car. 

Seungmin laughs in that loud and unrestrained way, the sound echoing through the parking lot. _Beautiful,_ Changbin thinks.

—

Midnight on the dot. Maybe Changbin needs to tone down the overzealousness. 

The Laundromat is dead to the world but Seungmin is _bright_ and _alive_ when he walks through the door and Changbin’s never been happier to see his smiling, chapped lips and a basketful of laundry under the crook of his elbow. A familiar pair of headphones dangle out from his pocket and Changbin rolls up on his toes out of pure, unrestrained excitement, unable to hold himself back.

“Welcome back,” Changbin says, excitement thrumming through his body. Seungmin casts him a sidelong glance, before breaking into a smile.

He bumps his shoulder against Changbin’s, and that weird, fuzzy feeling manifests in Changbin’s chest again, leaving him light-headed and with rosy cheeks that will eventually burn red.

“You know,” Seungmin begins, right as the whirring of Changbin's machine starts up.

Seungmin blushes for reasons Changbin doesn’t understand, and then he’s dropping his basket of laundry onto the ground so he can prop himself up on top of the laundry machine, above the noise. Changbin does the same, trying not to think about the poor lady who works the night shift and glares at them if they stay for too long.

“What were you going to say?” Changbin says, cutting through the sound of machines clicking and whirring loudly. At least it’s not just them tonight, so he can feel less guilty about wasting away the night with Seungmin.

“Oh,” Seungmin blushes, his voice barely audible over the noise surrounding them. “Something embarrassing.”

Changbin nudges his shoulder, feeling emboldened by the thin veil of noises that shields them both. “C’mon. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Seungmin nods, but he hesitates anyways, almost like he’s afraid.

Outside, the neon lights on the window of the Laundromat flicker and Changbin finds himself entranced by the blinking blue and red.

That is, until Seungmin starts speaking again.

“I think staying with you made me realize something,” Seungmin admits, and Changbin almost teeter-totters off of the machine he’s sitting on at his words. 

This could either go _really_ well, or really bad.

Praying for his sense of sanity and pride (and that Seungmin isn’t about to tell him something embarrassing about how he snores or doesn’t clean up after himself), Changbin waits patiently.

The metronome of the machines below them chugging in circles is comfortable to his ears, a reminder of all the times they’ve done this before.

Meanwhile, Seungmin clears his throat and continues. “I think I might have a crush on you, actually.”

And there it is. Laid bare in the flickering of the neon lights hanging from the window and rhythmic clank of laundry machines is the one thing Changbin never thought he’d hear from Seungmin. Sweet, carefully held together Seungmin.

“Hyung?” The word is fuzzy and distant, like a wad of cotton is stuck in his ear. Changbin thinks he might be dreaming.

“Pinch me,” He demands instead of properly responding. Seungmin, albeit bewildered, complies without much hesitation. Much to Changbin’s dismay, of course. It was more rhetorical than anything else. But Seungmin doesn’t say anything regardless and it makes everything so much more _real_.

“So, um, are you gonna say anything, or do I have to find another place to do my laundry?” Seungmin scratches at his neck awkwardly and waits to see if he has to learn to phase Changbin out of his life and learn to move on.

Changbin laughs. “I think you’ll be just fine, Seungmin.”

“Yeah?” Seungmin asks, tilting his head so that they’re looking at each other. Changbin nods, before scooting closer to him. He balances on the edge of one machine and the edge of another, close enough to Seungmin that their knees knock against each other, sending sparks in the length of Changbin’s spine. 

Seungmin, too, leans closer. “So I’m guessing it’s safe to assume you feel the same way then.”

Changbin cracks into a smile, unable to resist any longer.

“I don’t just let _every_ boy who breaks their leg stay at my apartment. Especially if they get their cast removed and choose to continue staying,” Changbin says stupidly, because he might be a little in love with Seungmin.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, teasing. “So I’m the only one?”

“Always.” And then Changbin’s leaning closer, hands pressed to the edge of the laundry machine for balance. Seungmin, too, moves closer and a thrill rushes through Changbin’s body, enveloping him in the dizzying feeling. The kind he gets only when he’s around Seungmin and no one else. 

It’s electrifying and terrifying but all the more welcoming. Changbin can’t deny that.

But Seungmin tastes like coffee when they kiss through the haze of neon lights in the Laundromat and Changbin thinks he’s fallen in love through shared nights in his apartment and lovely, soft music played over the sound of laundry machines on Thursday nights. 

He thinks there’s no better way to fall in love than in this way, in the quiet buzz of the night and under fluorescent lights, especially with Kim Seungmin.


End file.
